Why? What do I mean to You?
by crazy34
Summary: I'm falling apart inside. And you're the one who's responsible for it. No matter how much I don't want to admit it. And it's too overwhelming. Your cold eyes do nothing but stare. Those empty, black eyes. Character Death SasuNaru


**Okay, this is my first emo story. It made me cry on the inside. So yeah, it has character death... But that's the point. **

**Disclaimer - I don't own Naruto, nor any other person on this site, so I wonder why I'm typing this, but still...  
**

- - -

"Why do you want me?" I ask when you pull away from the kiss. My eyes are wide with curiosity. I have to find out why.

But all you would reply would be "Because". No other words escape your lips as you pull me back into a kiss. When you let go again and we part, I ask again.

"Because," you growl. "Do you need more than that?" You are on the verge of exploding at me, so I keep quiet as you slowly begin to undress me. I am used to it, but I don't want to be. I want to start a conversation. That is all. I want to take my own clothes off. I want to decide when is a good time to kiss and when isn't. But you have to be in charge of everything.

You continue pulling off my clothes until I am naked. Then, you take off your own clothes. You are getting ready for tonight. You leave me alone as you quickly freshen up in the bathroom. I sit there, covered by silence.

When you come out, you try to put me in the same mood you are in. You kiss me. You suck my neck. You rub my erection. You do all these things, just for me. And I try to smile. For real. But it's not working. My smiles are no longer real. They haven't been for a while. They'll never come back unless you want them to.

You set our area up. Made room, made sure I am on my stomach, everything. And when that satisfies you, you start. Slowly, in and out, in and out. But it isn't you. It was more like a robot, a body without a soul. Where did you go? Why aren't you the same as you used to be? We barely talk anymore, though you say you love me. And I want to know why. As you continue, you start to go faster. You don't even moan with satisfaction anymore. Why? Is it for self-indulgence? Am I only a puppet to you?

Do you even want me? Is that why you answer, "because"? Because you don't love me anymore? Or is it me? We're a couple, aren't we? Why don't you act like it?

You stop. You fall to my side and run you fingers through my soft hair. Almost as if you're expecting something. What? What are you looking for? What are you expecting?

To me, you're not human anymore. A robot. An artificial lover. A puppet. Nothing like the person you used to be. Why? And what am I? Your sin? Your secret? Your doll?

You whisper you love me, and then you fall asleep. Is it really love? Even if I love you, do you love me? I do what I do for you. I truly love you. Do you love me? Even a little bit? Because I believe that there is no love, no matter how much I love you.

Tonight you decide to stay. You usually don't, but tonight you do. I find this confusing. Why do you stay, even if you don't love me? Do you love me, and that is why you stay? I doubt it.

You start to fall asleep. You're very tired tonight. And I wonder why? We did nothing today. You just watched as I made a fool of myself trying to do my tasks. And you just stared. You didn't laugh, encourage me, call me a dobe, anything. Just staring with your cold, black orbs people call eyes.

You curl up next to me, but your back is to mine. You don't wish to have my face peer at yours while you dream. You just wish to be alone, free to dream without anyone else to dream with you. No one. Not even me.

I pretend. I pretend you love me as you cuddle up to me. You flip over on the futon and face me. Your face is so peaceful, so soft. No cold, black orbs showing to pierce my body. I love you so much. I love you the most when you sleep. I smile as I try to cuddle next to you, but it still isn't the same. It'll never be the same as the past. Nothing ever will. Not me and especially not you.

I can tell myself it's really love. That I love you, which I do, and you can return that treat. That you can make your orbs soft, and actually say those three words and mean it. I love you. Is it so hard to do that?

It makes me feel empty. It makes everything feel empty everyday. Especially the futon we share. How can it have so many people, and yet feel so empty? I mean, it's so small, and with both of us, why does it feel so empty?

But everything feels empty. Whether you're here or not. Why? Is it you that makes everything empty? Or me? I don't think it's me. It most likely is you, but I don't want to blame you. I love you. I could never blame you. No matter what.

I cannot help crying. Silently, emptily, I cry. Sometimes, I feel hollow. I feel as hollow as your black orbs called eyes. I feel as hollow as my eyes are everyday. You made me hollow. I cannot admit it, ever, but you are the cause of my hollowness. You are the cause of my doubt. My love is running thin, since there is none being returned. But I don't want to notice. Maybe, just maybe, you will return some. Maybe not a lot, but some. You know I love you, right? You know you're the reason I live. And that means that I won't be living much longer at this rate. But I don't want to think about that. Never in a million years.

Again, I pretend. I pretend you love me as you silently watch me. As you walk beside me. As you practice with me. As you kiss me. As you make love to me. I pretend. I try to not fake it, but I can't. All my smiles, all my laughs. Fake. Nothing is real anymore. How could they be? I'm hollowing out inside. I'm beyond repair. And the only one who can fix me is you. But you probably don't want to. After all, I'm your doll.

It's taking a while, but I've realized something. I've realized that you're the one. The one making me hollow. The one making me empty. The one making me fade away. The one that is slowly killing me, when I try so hard to stay alive.

And I've realized how you've started to kill me. You've been eating away at my heart. I cannot feel it anymore. Nothing. Only a hole. I ripped out my heart to give it to you, yet you let it rot, along with your heart. They're not even together. Even though I hope them to be, they're not.

Your presence, your heart next to mine, it's poison. Poison in a slow process, trying to make my heart fade away. Nothing is helping. It's a poison that cannot heal. And all I can do is wait for it to stop working. And how does it stop working? It stops, the second it kills me.

Your kisses, your love, they're slowly killing me. They're the poison. They'll soon be the death of me. I never wished for this day to come, but it is. Each caress, each fight, everything we go through, it's breaking down my soul.

And I can't leave you. No matter how hard I try, I just can't. You're my addiction. My heroin. My crack. My cigarette. My own, bittersweet, deadly addiction.

Don't you see the pain you have caused me? My death approaching? My love, giving way as if tons had been dropped on it. Or do you care. I know you love me, but do you care? Do you really want me to suffer? I don't think you do, but what do I know? I thought you loved me. Big mistake. I've always been wrong about you, so why would I think that you didn't want me to suffer? Because you probably do.

Every time I try to talk to you about this, you shove me away with a "Shut up." You turn your back on me. Is this what you chose? Your answer? To ignore the one who loves you?

And the silence is the worst part. Worse than the emptiness. Worse then the pain. I want to talk to you. All you seem to do is threat and mutter words that don't mean anything to you. You don't care. I wish you did, but you don't. That's why you have the silence. You might admit it. You might admit you don't care. And if you admit that, that'll be the end of us. Even if it isn't love, it'll be devastating for you. No one to be with or spend time with. No one, especially not me, since I won't be there for you anymore. The way I am for you now.

Cracks. That's what you're forming of my soul. It's chipping apart, cracking. There's no cure for it anymore. Nothing. My soul, my rotten heart, tearing away and falling apart. That's all you're doing.

I can't believe it. The end. The end of the desolate road is coming closer. Slowly, I'm dying. Whether I want it, whether you want it, I'm dying. Inside and out.

Sunlight shines on us as you start to stir in your sleep. You're almost awake. I've thought about it all night. I'm going to do it. And when you wake up, you'll see how much you've done to me.

I write a note. I fold it and place it in my palm. You should notice it. And if not, it'll be for you. This is what it reads:

_Uchiha Sasuke,_

_I love you. I don't care if you love me or not. But I love you. These past few years have been great. Up until three months ago. Now, all you've done is tear me apart. I know you probably don't care, but I do. You haven't talked to me fully. And you've been like a soulless body. I needed you, but you weren't there. So I decided to leave. I'm sorry if this hurts you, because it hurts me. _

_Uzumaki Naruto_

I hesitate. Will you miss me? Mourn me? Will you even care if I'm dead? I hope that you do. As much as I say it, I love you. Truly. But I cannot hold this love forever.

Will you replace me? Just find someone new to take my place. To have another person not mean anything to you, like I do?

I quietly stand up and walk into the kitchen. Tears are rolling down my cheeks. More, silent tears, tears that should just disappear forever. Tears that will disappear. Forever. I pick up a knife from the counter.

I wonder: arm or neck. I think it through, and I decide arm. I turn my arm so the bottom side is facing me. I put the knife on the middle of my palm. Not enough to pierce the skin, but enough to make a mark. I slowly draw my path. I'm careful in my planning, the way you are in yours. I have the knife travel up to my shoulder. I doubt it'll travel that far, but I do it anyway.

I draw the knife back to my palm. Before I start my journey to death, I stop. I put the knife down and remove my shirt. I pick the knife up again, placing it near my heart. I insert it to just puncture the skin, as I draw a heart around my rotten heart. Blood runs down my chest. I barely feel the pain. I guess this is the best time to do it.

After my heart is done, I move back to my palm. And I dig the knife into my fleshy hand. All I feel is warm blood rush to the surface. I don't feel the pain. Not anymore.

There's not turning back now. I slide the knife up my hand and onto the wrist. The whole point of this is to open the artery and die of blood loss. In one hand is nothing but blood. In the other are the knife and the note.

I reach my elbow. My vision is starting to get blurry. I have already lost a lot of blood. I'm on the verge of blacking out and dying when you walking in. Your eyes grow large as I drop the knife. You yell my name.

I smile. Your eyes aren't so dark anymore. They're afraid. They're concerned. They're afraid that the reason you live is dying. I wish I could spend a day with you like that: caring.

I whisper I love you. You try to reassure me as you wrap my arm with a bandage. You call for help on my phone. And I black out. I hear you scream my name one more time.

And I feel guilty. I feel guilty for accusing you for not loving me. You love me. It just was a hard time for you. I'm sorry. But it's too late for that. As much as I don't want it to be, it is. I cry. I don't want to die. Not anymore. Not that I know that you love me. No, I'll never cry again. I'll never have the chance to, since I'm dying. Now my heart is rotten.

And I'm also relieved. Relieved that you love me. Relieved that you could stay by me in my final moments, tears spilling down your face. And now, I ask myself, why? I did it because you didn't love me. But you did love me. Then why did I do it? Because I had pity on myself? Why? Why?


End file.
